Fukai
by Insomniac Owl
Summary: AU, modern day He and his brother were falling apart, and though Sasuke knew it, he couldn't convince himself to save them.
1. Rotten

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Fukai

__

By Insomniac Owl

Beginning Notes: Just two things, both small. First, if you see anything I did wrong, any inaccuracies or mistakes, please point them out, I'd appreciate it very much. And, second, I hope you enjoy this. Please review.

Chapter One: Rotten

It was cold that autumn, just above snow-cold, but where Sasuke lay on his bed (apartment complex B-6, second story, first room to the left) amid a nest of blankets, it was quite warm. A while back the heater had broken, but when the weather began to cool off, his brother, Itachi, had paid to have it fixed. It was running again, which was all Sasuke asked, and he was happy enough to lay on his bed, headphones up and loud, and watch the rain fall. The noise of it was lost under his music, though he could see the fat drops striking his windowpane.

The rest of the house, as it had been for so long, was simply quiet. His brother had been gone all day, so Sasuke was the only one home - not that it bothered him, he liked the solitude, but it had been happening too often lately. Days went by where Sasuke didn't see his brother at all, since Itachi often stayed out until two, three in the morning, and when he did come home, Sasuke could see drugs in his eyes. Sometimes alcohol. Glazed, distant, numb, and if it was alcohol, Sasuke could smell it.

He sighed, reaching down to pause his music. The player rested on his stomach, and when he rolled onto his side it slipped to the sheets. Without it he could hear the rain, a quick splitter-splatter. It was cold outside - his bed was just beside the window, so he should know - and the snow the weatherman was always talking about should be along soon. To be quite honest, Sasuke was surprised they hadn't had some already. He liked the snow and was looking forward to it, though occasionally the soft drifts were preceded by fierce snowstorms; harsh winds and a snapping, stinging cold….

Glancing outside, he saw pedestrians rushing by under the cover of umbrellas, hats, newspapers, and nothing at all. There weren't so many as there had been a few hours ago (it was wet, and it was getting late as well, the sun slipping behind layers of smog like a pull-out in a children's story book), but there were enough.

(_And they lived happily ever after_….)

Sasuke turned from the glass, heading downstairs. He thought he would go to the McDonald's down the street and buy a milkshake and french-fries (he hated the hamburgers, they were so greasy and disgusting, so _American_).

Passing Itachi's room just a few feet from his, he saw the white of countless papers strewn across the floor - pages of the diary he kept. Sasuke rarely saw him writing in it, but he must, by the look of all those papers. He could just make out Itachi's handwriting - precise, though sometimes messy, _rushed_, as if he couldn't get what was in his head out fast enough - on the paper. Sasuke only glanced, however, a flash of guilt turning his eyes away. Those were Itachi's private things, after all; hardly any of _his_ business.

He swept the coins Itachi had left him into his pocket, then, lifting a house key from the counter, headed for the door. The chill was a sharp contrast after the warm apartment, and he pulled his jacket a little tighter.

As he was coming onto the sidewalk a car turned the corner, blue and green in the same moment, and he paused to watch it race by. It slowed, however, and a flicker of recognition (barely there, he'd only seen this car once before) passed through his mind. Kisame. And, judging by the shadowy figure in the passenger seat, Itachi as well. The car pulled up against the curb, and Sasuke's brother stepped out, glancing over the roof to meet his eyes. His lips moved briefly, bidding Kisame goodbye, perhaps, and with the door shut the car moved off again, leaving only a gust of exhaust.

"Where you going to get something to eat?" he asked, coming to the front door.

Sasuke tossed him the keys. "Yeah. Let me in when I get back."

His brother's willowy neck bent once, dark hair falling into his eyes and out again, and then the door closed, leaving no movement at all.

The entire street seemed a little darker than it should have been that evening, as if night had come ahead of schedule. The clouds had come so suddenly, hovered for half a week, growing darker, and now they were releasing what water they had stored up, steady drops that fell hard. It didn't pour, though. It was more of a drizzle, a light rain with a way of blocking light. When the sun emerged, however, always greatly anticipated, it brought along a sense of hope, a feeling of newness, as if the rain had washed away some sin to make the world clean. (But it always came back, and it always had to be washed away again. It was simply the way things worked).

Itachi, Sasuke thought, kicking an empty soda can, could use some rain if it truly worked that way. Itachi had quite a lot of sin on his shoulders. Not that Sasuke, of course, was in any place to criticize. Strapped under his bed, after all, and thinly packed into CD cases….

He ended up, not in McDonald's, but in a small coffee shop just opposite. Unlike the fast-food restaurant, it was slower, a little more relaxed.

Sasuke ordered his drink, digging out a few of Itachi's coins to pay for it, and took a seat at one of the tables near the window. He could see the people passing by just a few feet away, the glare transforming their features into something almost holy, too brilliant too look directly at. If he leaned to either side it vanished, and they were ordinary human beings again. A trick of the light.

"I thought you were going to get something to eat. Isn't that what you said?"

Sasuke looked up, startled, to find Itachi standing just beside him, one hand resting on the back of Sasuke's chair. The younger didn't say it, but it was a little unnerving how Itachi had shown up, so suddenly and unexpected, like the clouds that were pouring themselves onto the city.

"I thought you were at home," he answered.

The corners of Itachi's mouth twitched. He took a seat, pressing one hand briefly to the window, lips parting just a little. "It's so cold outside… don't you think?"

"Yeah. Did you order anything?" Sasuke asked, leaning back in his chair. The bars pressed into his back a little, but he ignored it, watching Itachi draw his fingers across the glass. Five streaks appeared at his fingertips, clear and a better window than the one they were made on, and Itachi dropped his hand, setting both on the table in front of him.

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "I just thought I'd come down here with you. I didn't have anything better to do, after all." He smiled a little, another twitch of his lips, and Sasuke returned it, though he could feel the fakeness of the gesture. It felt forced, and it was. The distance between them was almost painful then, a silence stretching on and on….

"Sasuke Uchiha?"

Sasuke's head shot up, and the boy at the counter held his coffee up a little before setting it down, just to make sure he saw it. He rose from his seat, unable to suppress the relief spreading through him (not that he wanted to). He couldn't help it; it felt so awkward sitting there with Itachi, not saying anything - almost as if they weren't brothers at all, but strangers. It had been that way for a while, though, Sasuke thought, taking his drink back to the table. Not a long while, but a while. For a few years he had watched himself and Itachi become a little less like brothers, and for some reason he was never able to bring himself to step in, to _do something_. He couldn't explain it very well, other than labeling it 'fear', or 'inadequacy', and he didn't like the sounds those words made rolling off his tongue.

Taking his seat again, he sat in the same sort of silence as Itachi, only a little different (stiff, awkward, uncomfortable), and stared into his coffee. It was light brown, made still lighter by cream and sugar.

He and Itachi seemed so much like strangers just then, as if this table had been the only one available, and they sat together out of simple necessity. It was almost worse when they spoke, however, because the words come out sounding forced, which in some ways was worse than the silences. Sasuke sipped at his coffee, and broke it anyway.

"Why were you back so early?"

Itachi looked up, a little startled, perhaps, at Sasuke's boldness (or maybe it was _boredness_), but he smiled a little. "They wanted Kisame at work. Apparently there was some matter that needed his attention."

"Just him? That seems a little weird, doesn't it?"

"Not if you know how our boss is," Itachi said, giving another smile, as if at some inside joke.

"You didn't go drink or anything?"

Itachi's head came up sharply, and Sasuke knew he had said the wrong thing. (Was he not supposed to know? It wasn't as if Itachi made much effort to hide it….) He couldn't name the emotion that flitted across his brother's face just then, but Itachi seemed to gather himself, and then he shook his head, gaze going back to the window.

"No. We didn't."

After that, Sasuke kept silent.

****

o

They could only be expected to keep at it for so long, he reflected, allowing his body to give way beneath him, falling onto his bed with a squeak of springs. They could only pretend for so long, because they really were strangers, no matter how much he tried to deny it. A blood test would have said otherwise, but there were things, feelings, ties, that a blood test would never reveal. The silences, for one. The glances snuck and the awkward meeting of their eyes that said they really don't know each other very well at all. Never did.

No, Sasuke thought, reaching under his bed. His fingers groped for a moment in the darkness, in the space he couldn't see, and then he pulled a plastic bag free. It hadn't always been that way, actually. There had been a time, years ago now (though it seemed a lifetime, seemed _a_ _thousand_ lifetimes) when they had been brothers, _really_ been brothers.

Their family had gone to Kyoto when he was little, and there had been a pond, and a bridge, and glittering koi in the water behind them. Itachi put his arm around Sasuke (though he didn't know why, even now) and they had stood watching the fish together.

Brothers, see?

__

("They're beautiful, aren't they Sasuke?")

Their father had taken a picture, Sasuke recalled, and their mother had been there too, on Itachi's other side. On the bridge in Kyoto with kio in the background, shimmering, sparkling - it was pretty. He couldn't remember where the picture had gone, but it sat on their mantel for the longest time….

"Things'll work out," he murmured. "We'll have that back, eventually."

He just had to wait, that was all.

Sasuke pulled the bag open, taking a pinch of the white powder it was full of. A little guilt was the price he paid for hiding drugs - whenever Itachi came home stoned, he felt a twinge of it, because he did that too sometimes, and sometimes Itachi saw. But as if there were some secret covenant between them, some code of silence, he said nothing. And neither did Sasuke.

A short knock came at the door, and he shoved the bag under his pillow, heart suddenly racing.

"I'm going out with Kisame," Itachi said from the other side, and Sasuke swallowed, clearing his throat a little before he answered. He didn't quite trust his voice just then, but it sounded normal enough.

"When are you coming back?"

There was a slight pause, and Sasuke imagined his brother lifting his shoulders, half-shrugging in that way he had. "Twelve," he said. "Maybe later." Quick footsteps on the stairs, a door slamming, and then silence, save the hum of the heater through the walls. Sasuke pulled the bag from beneath his pillow, but ended up shoving it back under his bed. He didn't feel like he needed it (wanted it, _desired it_,actually) anymore.

A car hummed to life outside, Kisame's, and though he couldn't see it - it was too dark out, nearly eight, he estimated - he could hear the silence when it left. It had stopped raining.


	2. Drag

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Fukai

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By Insomniac Owl

(notes: the quote used at the end is from a song by Dir en Grey, but it's actually the last line of a lullaby, roughly translated to mean, 'go to sleep, go to sleep'.)

Chapter 2: Drag

The kitchen was filled with light the next day, clouds emptied to leave a clear blue sky behind. It had stopped raining long ago, but drops still fell from the rooftops, there in the same way they clung to trees long after the clouds had passed.

It was Sunday today - a church day, if they went. If it had been a normal Sunday he would have gone into his room for a few hours after (a late) breakfast, headphones slipped on and up until his ears were ringing long after. He would read a bit, perhaps do some homework. This Sunday, however, he and Itachi were going out. Itachi had suggested it, and, seeing as he really had nothing better to do, Sasuke agreed.

When he finished eating Sasuke went to fetch a jacket from his bedroom, coming back to find Itachi washing out the steamer, a jacket of his own draped over one of the dining room chairs.

"Are you ready?" Itachi asked, his head coming up. He dried his hands and slipped into his jacket, jingling the few pocketed coins. "We'll have enough for lunch, I think," he murmured, mostly to himself, then turned to Sasuke.

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah." Shoving his hands into his pockets, Sasuke followed Itachi out. As they passed from the cover of the overhang, he was careful to avoid the rain still dripping in places, remnants of the night before.

"Where do you want to go?" Itachi asked, lifting his face to the sky. There was a slight breeze out today, lifting his hair back just enough to prove its existence.

Sasuke glanced in both directions, hesitating for a moment. To the right of their apartment, he knew, lay the larger businesses, the department stores and novelty shops, the tourist section. To the left was also this, but it within half a mile it tapered off to smaller specialty stores. Sake, kitchenware, candy…. Much further down, there was also a church. And even further than that a school, the one Sasuke took a bus to every weekday (and the occasional Saturday for special functions).

"Left?" he said.

"That's fine."

After a while, glancing at his brother, he asked: "Why did you want to do something today?"

"No reason, really." Itachi gave a sort of half shrug, turning to look across the street. "Let's cross here." The cars in sight were far enough to escape even caution, and they walked no faster than before. "I just… wanted to get out for a while."

Some jealous part of him brought to mind Kisame, (why not him, huh?) but when Sasuke voiced the thought Itachi merely smiled. A small knowing smile that made his eyes the slightest bit sad(der). "Why go with Kisame," he said, "when I can go with you?"

Even to Sasuke's ears the words sounded forced.

(_We haven't been anywhere for so long, you're right, and it feels like we're slipping further apart. Even now that distance is growing, little by little, and one day we're going to look up and realize what a huge gap it's become. But by that time it will be too late to fix it, won't it, Nii-san? Won't it be just like that? So we'd better fix it now, right?_)

Sasuke smiled a little, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "I guess so."

They were getting into the specialty shops now, the signs, all wood and paint and gilt characters, proclaiming the wares to be had inside. There was a store selling kites, another sake, another shrine necessities, but none had quite given up the steel-glass exteriors of Tokyo's modern sector. These were the chain companies, the ones that had stores in Nagasaki, Kyoto, Osaka, and Tokyo all at once. They could afford to compete without losing everything to foreign businesses.

"Let's go in here," Sasuke said, receiving a nod in response. He'd indicated a bakery a few doors ahead, and he could already smell the cakes. He probably had enough coins in his pocket to buy a small something, though he'd have to look around for ideas. He hadn't been there for… he couldn't even remember - not since he was a kid, at least, when he and Itachi would stop by before moving on to a park down the street. Occasionally they would buy a small cake and share it between them….

He stepped inside sick with nostalgia, dark eyes closing on the shelves. God, how long had it been since they'd stopped coming here? No, that was the wrong question. How long had it been since their parents had died, since he'd found them lying red on the floor, tragic victims of a break-in turned murder…. How long? That was when they'd stopped, when things had begun to rot. Had he been eight? Nine? Sixteen?

__

(Oohhh…. 

He backed out the door, trying desperately to contain himself. With what he didn't know, only that if he stayed there, the top of Itachi's head just visible above the aisle shelves, he would - something. Break down, burst…. He found himself with his back pressed against the wall outside, knees brought close in some sort of defense, but that was all - thank god. No ragged breathing (though it had quickened a bit), no tears.

After their parents had died (no - been killed, _murdered_, no point in glossing it over) he and Itachi had 'made the best of things', or whatever it was his school counselor had said on the matter, but of course things had never been the same. No… they had been very different, in fact. He and Itachi had begun to drift apart - and at first it was hardly noticeable, a missed word or greeting that slowly became something else (a missed conversation, a missed day, one at a time), and they… faded, if you will. Two dead leaves, carried only by the wind.

Sasuke let out a long, shuddering breath, laying his forehead against his knees.

After the distant heat of the sun, the cool that dropped over him just then was impossible to ignore. It was with a nearly hesitant air that he lifted his head, expecting to see Itachi but instead meeting eyes with a stranger - black hair, pale face, golden eyes - who wore oddly shaped gold earrings, heavy-looking but plain, that actually swung a bit when he bent down.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm - I'm fine," Sasuke said quickly, glancing toward the bakery doors. He couldn't find Itachi inside, but then, the only visible bit of the store was a slanted version of the first two aisles - all he could see in the glass door.

"You looked dizzy when you came out…. Are you sure?"

Sasuke nodded, climbing (a bit un)easily to his feet. "Yeah. Thanks."

The man smiled, reaching to brush a lock of hair from his eyes. "Not at all.… My name is Orochimaru, by the way. I don't think I've ever seen you before."

"Probably not," said Sasuke, shoving his hands in his pockets. He couldn't quite place the name, though he was sure he'd heard it before. "Your name sounds familiar; do you own a business or something?"

Orochimaru chuckled, shaking his head as he drank from the cup he held. Sasuke hadn't noticed it before, but now he caught the faint scent of coffee. "Not quite." the man said. "It's probably -"

"Sasuke… what are you doing?"

He turned to find Itachi standing in the doorway of the bakery, eyes not on him but on Orochimaru. It was only at second glance that Sasuke saw the guarded look in them, something that made him the slightest bit uneasy.

"Itachi, this is Orochimaru," he said, gesturing toward the other man.

"I know."

A frown creased Sasuke's forehead. "You -"

"Your brother and I were, shall we say, acquaintances, in the not so distant past," Orochimaru said, a slight smile on his lips. "Weren't we. Itachi." He smiled outright then, a smirk that gave way to a chuckle. "Ah, but you never liked me much, I'm afraid."

Itachi's hands, like Sasuke's, had settled in his pockets, though he could see the faint outline of his brother's fists where his own lay relaxed and passive. "We need to go Sasuke," Itachi said, taking his gaze from Orochimaru. He waited a moment, and then turned back the way they had come. "Now."

Orochimaru smiled, seeming to disregard the cold greeting he'd received. "Goodbye then, Sasuke. I hope you're alright."

Sasuke gave a small smile in return, told him "Thanks," and hurried after Itachi, falling in beside him just as he had when they'd begun walking. Somehow, though, it seemed different, even more off….

"Did something happen between you two?" he asked quietly, stealing a glance toward his brother. Itachi's eyes had lost the guarded look; now they were simply weary. Sad (which meant unhappy).

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, the syllables nearly too soft for Sasuke to catch. And there was that gap, almost visible…. "Please, Sasuke, just… what were you doing, talking to him anyway?"

"I… nothing. I went outside, and we started talking, that's all." And it wasn't a straight lie, not exactly, but he didn't care if Itachi knew. He'd seen him leave, after all, seen him sink against the wall, head reeling in his hands (probably).

"About what?"

"Nothing really. His name sounded familiar, and he was going to tell me something about it, but…." he shrugged. "We didn't have time to talk about anything else."

****

o

They ate lunch at the McDonalds down the street, sharing a large box of fries between them. The silence was attributed to the food in their mouths. The lack of eye contact was attributed to preoccupation with the hamburgers. And the silence when they left… well, that went unmentioned.

When they arrived home, the clock on the stove declared they had been gone a mere thirty minutes, though was meant to have been an all-day outing. It had been Orochimaru…. Sasuke shook his head, slipping his headphones on absentmindedly. "It's not his fault," he murmured as he thumbed the play button. No, things happened, after all. Call it chance, or fate, or whatever.

Even through the music (turned up until his ears were ringing long after, you'll end up deaf eventually, don't you know?) he could hear Itachi on the phone across the hall. His voice was low, but Sasuke could make out snatches if he listened ("Thursday, right?" and: "I know, I know..." and: "God, Kisame, I didn't-"). Nothing that made sense on its own. It was entirely probable, Sasuke mused, that he would go out again tonight, the thought settling in his stomach like a sick weight. Kisame would arrive around seven-eight, as usual, in his sleek blue-green car (a sports car, so very un-Itachi-like), and they would be out until three. And, as usual, Itachi would come home with his eyes glazed over, either a bottle or an empty plastic bag in his hand. And it would be a secret to be clasped with both hands, never released. Not hidden, simply unmentioned.

Sasuke sank back against his pillows with a sigh, tapping out a rhythm against the CD player. The disk was spinning faster than the eye could follow, black except for that little bit of gray there - words whirled to dumbness. He could see Itachi's shadow beneath the door, crossing over to the stairs and down, still murmuring. Yes, he would probably go out tonight, again, as usual….

Around eight Sasuke looked up through his blinds and his music, slipping the headphones down around his neck to watch Kisame's blue-green car pull up. Four knocks sounded at the front door shortly after, and Itachi poked his head in Sasuke's room. His hair was down, but there was a hair tie (purple) looped between his fingers and he looked ready otherwise. His words, however, denied it.

"Would you get the door Sasuke? Tell him I'll only be a minute."

At his nod Itachi disappeared again, footsteps quick against the wooden floorboards, and Sasuke pulled his headphones off altogether, laying them aside as he dragged himself from the bed. Kisame was waiting patiently at the door when he arrived, hands in his pockets and lips pulled apart into a grin.

"Hey kid, Itachi ready?"

Sasuke shook his head. "You can come in though, if you want; he said he'd be ready in a minute."

Kisame nodded. "Yeah, sure. Freezing out here anyway. Colder than a motherfucker kid, you know that? Can't stand it," he muttered, stamping his feet a bit as he shut the door behind him. "Don't know why I ever moved into this city, it's a fucking nightmare."

Sasuke shrugged, halfway to indifference, glancing into the kitchen. There was a kettle on the stove, and he nodded to it. "We have some tea, if you want."

Kisame leaned over to look, but he shook his head. "Me and Itachi were gonna stop and get something on the way, so no thanks kid." Then, eyes raised to the ceiling: "Itachi, get your ass down here!" There was silence, as expected, but Kisame didn't seem to mind.

"Where are you going?" asked Sasuke, leaning against the wall. Kisame tore his gaze from the ceiling, grinning again.

"That's for us to know."

There was that look in his eyes that Sasuke didn't like, that look that was just a little bit off, just a little bit _wrong_. It sent shivers down his spine, and he didn't press the matter. They could hear Itachi moving around upstairs, though faintly, and he finally came into the kitchen with a small, and almost mocking smile.

"Finally - I've been waiting for the last twenty minutes," Kisame snapped. Itachi looked back at him, but said nothing.

They left without a backward glance at Sasuke, and he watched them leave with a repressed anger welled in his stomach. Once the car was out of sight, however, he sighed, gait slow as he went upstairs. And back on his bed, propped up on blankets, he slipped his headphones back on and let the music fill his head.

(Wasn't his music a form of drug as well? Something to get lost in, immersed in, something to forget himself in, and - for a moment, perhaps, though no more _(it never lasted)_ - be happy, or at least ignorant.)

Somewhere across the hall Itachi's cell phone rang, the insistent vibration buzzing uselessly against whatever surface it had been left upon. Sasuke didn't answer it. Let Itachi answer his own damned phone, let Itachi run his own damned errands, and do his own damned drugs (in whatever form they came), and live his own life, let him die on his own damned -

A sigh, eyes closed.

(Bad thoughts. Can't help them.)

(_Nennenokororiyo_….)


	3. Lurk

****

Fukai

__

By Insomniac Owl

Chapter 3: Lurk

Two days had passed since that Sunday, making it Tuesday and a school day. Though Sasuke always did reasonably well in his classes (that was a lie, actually, he was 1 out of 423), he couldn't say he liked them. The teachers had a way of pulling out the most obscure facts and formulas available, expecting him to memorize and spit them back whenever asked. (But of course, that was education nowadays - they had pulled away from learning to think and slipped into the old ways, when students memorized entire books, stuffed their heads full of useless information and were labeled smart.)

It was cold out today, though not so cloudy as it had been. And as if to counterbalance that, the wind had picked up, tossing Sasuke's bangs into his eyes so that he was forced to pause every few seconds and brush them away. It was too often that he swallowed hair along with his lunch, black strands that refused to go down and nearly choked him.

"He called me last night," his friend Sakon was saying, gesturing with his chopsticks as he spoke. "He didn't say what he had, though, just that he was sick and wouldn't be here today." He glanced up at Sasuke. "We go by his house, you know," he explained, "so I guess he didn't want us to bother him or anything…."

"The flu's been going around," said Ukon, picking at his rice. "It's not really a surprise."

"Are you talking about Kimimaro?" Sasuke asked, swallowing so that his words were broken at the start. He liked Kimimaro (white hair, green eyes, pale skin a lot like his) the most out of their group; they weren't quite best friends, but they had known each other for years, as Itachi and Kisame had. Sakon nodded; Ukon merely continued to push his rice around its corner, eating little.

"I did hear the flu was starting," Sasuke murmured. "Probably because of the weather; it's getting cold early this year."

The rain on Saturday had been one of many that fall - two weeks ago there had been one that closed a few minor bridges, cars spinning and causing accidents all over the city. It was never a good idea to drive in the rain - reduced visibility, increased chance of a spin-out… and the temperatures were dropping as well, which meant ice. More accidents. Danger.

"Did you talk to your brother about Saturday?" Ukon asked, causing Sasuke to bite his lip. He shook his head, going back to his food. They had been planning a party for that Saturday, but, truth be told, it had slipped his mind entirely.

"I forgot to ask him," he admitted. "He was… a little weird yesterday. He didn't come out of his room at all, and he looked -" here he paused, the exact words for what Itachi had been the day before (distant, isolated) evading him. "I don't know… _off_. Not all the way there."

Sakon nodded (understanding too well), and didn't press the matter.

****

o

"I'm going out."

Saturday - always party night, drink night, drug night - was Sasuke's version of Itachi's three-times-a-week Kisame jaunts, slimmed to once. And tonight Sakon had something planned, something Sasuke knew Itachi wouldn't like (if he knew, though it wasn't as if it was any worse than the things _he_ did. That amber liquid, those silver spoons, hypodermics, white powder, _bad bad bad!_).

Itachi looked up from the book he was reading to find him standing in his doorway, already wearing a jacket. A clip jangling with a few keys was hooked to his belt, and his hair was styled, though done so in such a manner that it looked like it wasn't really at all.

"Where?"

Sasuke shrugged, already turning. "Nowhere special."

Itachi bit his lip, fingering the edges of the book. He raised his voice a bit to catch Sasuke's attention, then: "Would… how about if I go with you?"

"Go with me?" Sasuke echoed, one hand coming to rest against the doorframe, as if to find support. "I'm… uh…."

(Look at that crack… it's there and you can _see_ it, can't you?)

"I'm… I'm meeting someone. It's a party, actually. At Sakon's."

Itachi dropped his eyes again, a bitter smile coming over his face. "Of course," he murmured, and the tone to his voice caused Sasuke to wince, wishing…. He turned away, shutting the door gently behind him.

"Sorry."

(After Sasuke left Itachi had reached for the cell phone at his feet, the numbers he pressed far too familiar for his liking.

How long was he going to keep pretending, lying to himself that it didn't bother him? Sasuke went out on his own now, with his own friends and money Itachi had given him (because he had gotten too old for embraces, for whispered promises Itachi broke far too often anyway), and he seemed happy.

"Kisame?"

"Itachi, hey. What is it? You don't normally call me this early." Itachi heard the playful tone, but did his best to ignore it. He was not been in the mood for Kisame's banter, for his dark-humored jokes that always involved a little more blood than he should have been comfortable with.

"I'd like to go somewhere tonight."

"Oh… alright. Any reason why?"

Itachi twisted a strand of hair around his finger, teeth biting at his lips. "No," he'd said eventually. "I feel like it, that's all. If you don't want -"

"No, hey, it's fine. I'll be over as soon as I can. Gimme ten minutes.")

It was almost hard for Sasuke to enjoy himself that night, but with the aid of a bottle of vodka, he eased the guilt into a pleasant buzz.

****

o

__

Itachi. November. 11.

Sasuke just went to a party, and I can't get over how stupid I'm being. We deny things to make ourselves happy, and it works for a while, but eventually it is bound to collapse, leaving us with something worse than what we attempted to hide. I don't know how much longer my denials will last; I am sick, quite sick, of pretending things are alright, but I don't know how Sasuke would take the truth, if he doesn't know already. I'm sure he does.

Kisame is so much more a part of this than he realizes, and I hate that I'm using him like this, as a sort of escape, but I'm sunk too deeply. Sasuke and I both, I think. There will be no stopping the course we're on, and one day…_ one day_….

****

o

There came a relentless hum from his backpack, the insistent bee vibration (no ring tone; those irritated him) signaling a caller. Sasuke bent to dig it out of his bag, sliding it open and bringing it up. He sat in his bedroom that day, homework spread around him on the bed in a semi-circle of white rectangles, the radio on.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Orochimaru. Do you remember me?" The voice on the other end was smooth, almost seductive. He recognized it immediately.

"Yeah," he said, shifting his weight as he leaned to turn his music down. The radio sat on his dresser, small, and black as a beetle. On some days he turned it up so loud he could feel the vibrations through his feet, coursing up his body with a wonderful, powerful energy that occasionally roused a complaint from their neighbors, but today wasn't one of those days. Today it was quiet, and though it was the same powerful music (loud, shrieking, drown-it-out) it sat on a weaker scale.

"What is it?"

"Well, I thought we might go somewhere a little later this afternoon, if you're willing, of course."

"I…." Sasuke paused, a slight frown curving his lips downward. "How did you get this number?"

"It was listed," Orochimaru replied, sounding genuinely surprised. A chuckle came through the speaker, and Sasuke could picture the older man's mouth opening as it had when they'd met, head going back a little. "Itachi and were colleagues once, you'll remember. I have access to it. So, what do you say?"

"I…" Sasuke paused, glancing toward his door. Itachi was just across the hall, he knew, probably reading. "Alright."

"I'll meet you across the street then," Orochimaru said, "as soon as you're ready."

"Okay. Sure."

Sasuke slid his phone into his pocket, gathering his homework and shoving it back into his binder. He didn't really need to do it since was acing all his classes, and was able to put it out of his mind easily. On his way out he glanced at Itachi's door, and, after a moment's pause he walked by without knocking.

(You shouldn't be doing this, Itachi wouldn't like it _at all_….)

Sasuke pulled on his jacket, snatching the house key from the counter as he left. It was, he noted as he stepped outside, about to rain again. The clouds were dark and heavy, and though it had been so nice that morning, the weather was always a bit unpredictable. Who knew, maybe it would pass them over altogether. Maybe it would pour, with thunder and lightning and everything. As he'd told Sakon at lunch last week, it was getting cold earlier than usual, and more stormy, and it _was_ a bit windy….

Orochimaru was, as promised, waiting for him just across the street.

"You know, I realized something on the way out," Sasuke said quietly, dark eyes suspicious (though only a little). "You called my cell phone; that's not listed in any phonebook. So how did you get my number? Or my address?"

Orochimaru chuckled again, head tilting back just as Sasuke had imagined on the phone. "You're too smart," he said, his eyes brightening. "I know a few people in the business and was able to get a favor, that's all."

"So why did you lie?" His voice was calm, but even he could hear the accusatory tone he had taken, reproachful of this man he'd met twice but barely knew. To his credit, Orochimaru smiled again, either because he'd chosen to ignore it or because he hadn't noticed at all.

"Does it matter?"

(Yes, of course it matters. It matters because I hate it when people lie to me; I don't like to be deceived. There are enough bad things going on in the world without your neighbor or friend lying to your face, being dishonest, and even a stranger should be courteous. You had no reason to lie, there was no excuse unless you're hiding something from me, which I hate even more because the sort of people who do that are always underhanded two-faces bastards I wouldn't trust with -)

Sasuke shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. It was a movement he was hardly aware he performed anymore, a quick burying more a gesture of familiarity than anything else. "I guess it doesn't. Why did you call me though? I mean, we barely met on Sunday, why would…."

Orochimaru paused to gauge his response, his eyes resting on the fists curled in Sasuke's pockets. "I knew Itachi a while back. Though he didn't like me much, I found him fascinating. You're probably the same way." He chuckled. "Excuse me, I'm sounding like a stalker. You interested me, that's all. And it wouldn't hurt to spend a little time together, would it?"

"I guess not…." Sasuke murmured, staring down at his feet. He felt… almost embarrassed. (Accusing him like that, such a bad, bad boy you are - it was the way Itachi made him feel sometimes. That was guilt, wasn't it?)

There was that grin again. "Now, what would you like to do? Do you have to be back by a certain time?"

The feeling that rose in him then was only a suspicion (intuition, rather), but it was probably true. He could feel it. Orochimaru knew that Itachi was home, and he knew Itachi hadn't given his permission for this. Sasuke shook his head nonetheless, pushing the thought from his mind. "No. I have class tomorrow though; I can't be out too late."

Orochimaru nodded, understanding perfectly. He turned his gaze from the apartment, and glanced down both sides of the street before turning to Sasuke. "Well..." he said slowly, though the look his in his eyes told Sasuke he had no doubt about what his choice of words would be, "where would you like to go?" His eyes sparkled a little, and he was smiling. Sasuke had felt like that once, too. Had felt that the world had suddenly revealed a corner of itself he'd never seen before - a new opportunity.

Now, of course, that feeling had faded, leaving him with the bleak surroundings he'd known his entire life. Metal, wood, glowing neon advertisements. The modern (Westernized, Americanized, _consumerized_) sector of Tokyo.

He shrugged, but he couldn't suppress the smile rising to his lips. Orochimaru's attitude was infectious, he supposed, that was all. And maybe he could pretend, just for him, that he was excited too.

****

o

Over the next few weeks Sasuke found himself spending more and more of his time with Orochimaru. At first it was only an hour or so each week, then two, three hours, entire evenings. They bought coffee at the café they both patronized regularly, they walked, window-shopped, that sort of thing. They also had discussions about philosophy, technology, humankind - subjects Sasuke hadn't talked about with Kimimaro, Sakon, Ukon, or even Itachi before. It was new, refreshing, filling him with the same buzz his music did when it pounded through his body.

Eventually, it became inevitable that Orochimaru would invite him over. They spent so much time together it shouldn't have been all that surprising when he asked. And Sasuke, any guilt he would have felt long worn away, accepted the invitation.

(Because if you're exposed to a thing for too long, you become accustomed to it. Good, bad, poison, antidote, it begins to fade, wear away, and you hardly notice it anymore. It's gone, and you're immune.)

Orochimaru's house was neater than Sasuke and Itachi's apartment - there weren't any dishes in the sink, even - but otherwise it was very similar. There was a living room with four beige walls, a bathroom, two bedrooms (one filled with books, ancient, crumbling scrolls, typed papers and handwritten ones (like Itachi's), that sort of thing), a kitchen. In short, all the essentials. His room was cleaner than Sasuke's, the books spread over the sheets and covers of his bed the only mess. On the far side of the room was a window looking into the street, and Sasuke watched cars pass with both palms pressed against the walls, feeling the cold.

Orochimaru was in the kitchen, boiling water for tea, but he had told Sasuke to wander around if he wanted. He had offered a tour, but Sasuke assured him he would be able to find his own way.

It wasn't that bad out today, actually, Sasuke mused, leaning his forehead against the glass. The pane was cool, but that was to be expected given the temperature outside. Soon it would hold at twenty-five, and there would be snow and ice covering the streets outside, instead of water.

"Did you want tea?"

He turned, startled, to find Orochimaru with his head in the doorway, a cup in one hand. It was steaming, the scent of it settling into the walls in thin layers. Sasuke inhaled as he nodded (just to smell it), and stepped across the room toward him.

Orochimaru had already set out a cup for him in the kitchen, a cupboard to the left of the stove standing open to display a basket of teabags. Sasuke selected mint, just like Orochimaru, and left his cup on the counter to steep while he went to look over the older man's shoulder. He was at the counter flipping through a magazine - _Science Weekly_, the title proclaimed.

"Sounds prestigious," Sasuke muttered, and Orochimaru smiled, looking back over his shoulder.

"Something like that," he replied, offering him the booklet. "Do you want to read it? It's informative."

Sasuke snorted, shook his head. "I'll bet. No thanks though." He moved across the room to check his tea, swirling the teabag a few times as he peered into the tinted water. "You think it's ready?"

"Try it."

"I'll burn myself."

Orochimaru shrugged, sipping at his own tea. He left the magazine on the counter and seated himself at the table instead, curling long fingers around his teacup. Sasuke soon joined him, lacing his fingers together and staring at the tabletop.

"The weather's been really ugly lately, hasn't it," he said, raising his eyes across the table. Orochimaru paused, a smirk coming over his lips. He set his cup down, but said nothing for a moment, as if contemplating Sasuke's words. Then, smirk still in place:

"I guess it has. Any reason you mention it?"

"Not really."

Orochimaru picked up his cup again.

"I was wondering though," Sasuke said abruptly - might as well ask now, and get it out, he was _curious_, you know? "You and Itachi…. I asked him why he didn't like you, but he wouldn't say."

"And you're wondering if I know?" Sasuke nodded. "I think we just didn't get along very well," Orochimaru said slowly, thoughtfully. He was staring at some point beyond Sasuke's head, out the window perhaps. "He thought I was too ambitious, that I had no patience for things that mattered." He gave a shrug of his own, though it suggested he didn't know how to phrase the idea in his head (an inadequacy), whereas Sasuke's had been simple acknowledgement. "I left the business we both worked for, and he stayed on. It was a very tight-knit place, and he resented my leaving more than anything I'd done."

He shrugged again (closure). "People are like that sometimes though, you'll find that out for yourself soon enough. We…." His eyes narrowed here, darkening into a fired gold, some emotion Sasuke couldn't identify. "I think we have an idea in our heads - an ideal situation or life, if you will. We get settled into a thing, and when it is disrupted - when someone leaves, for example - we have the hardest time accepting it and start making excuses." Orochimaru chuckled, turning his cup in his hands, though Sasuke could see he wasn't examining the pattern, or even really seeing it at all. "Of course," Orochimaru continued, "it's something we can't adjust on our own, so when those people come along you have to shut them out, and get on with fulfilling your own life."

Sasuke glanced toward the counter, suddenly uncomfortable.

(We start making excuses. We want things to stay the same, forever. We can't accept. )

When he left shortly after, Sasuke spent the whole walk home telling himself he didn't feel the slightest bit guilty. And by the time he stepped into the kitchen to find the note Itachi had left him - _I've gone out with Kisame, we'll be back late : Itachi._ - he believed it.

(Almost).


	4. Waver

****

Fukai

__

By Insomniac Owl

Chapter 4: Waver

That Saturday, instead of going to another party, Sasuke sat across the table from Itachi at one of the restaurants in town. It wasn't five star, or even four (they had a budget, after all, and no one to impress), but when they most often ate at fast food places it seemed better than it was. It was nice enough though, really - small, but it catered to locals rather than tourists.

Sasuke sighed, running a finger down the menu. Across the table, Itachi looked up and then went back to his own. "Do you want soda or is water alright?" he asked, softly, so that his voice was nearly lost in the conversations around them.

"Water's fine. I think I'll get Yakitori to eat, and then some rice. You?"

"Yakisoba."

"That's it?"

Itachi shrugged, folding his menu and setting it aside. "I'm not very hungry."

They placed their orders, and by the time their food came twelve minutes later Sasuke was ready for it. Other than asking Sasuke to pass him a pair of chopsticks, Itachi hadn't said a word more, and it made Sasuke feel as if he had done something wrong. Itachi was staring at him in a way that made him uneasy; he felt that Itachi was thinking something, a thing he would eventually spring on his brother, and it would be a horrible nasty secret he really should have kept to himself forever (because the right words could hurt, especially if they were untrue).

Throughout dinner their small table was silent, with only a request for some seasoning or another to break it. Not, of course, that such an atmosphere was unusual. Over the years Sasuke had grown used to the quiet, and he hardly noticed it now. Some silences could be deafening. He didn't hear anything at all.

Sasuke's chopsticks fell gently against his plate, picking up a single piece of meat. The discarded bamboo sticks lay to one side of his plate, the cleaned rice bowl to the other, his fingers moving to transfer one piece of meat to his mouth at a time. It was good, saucy and tender, but his movements seemed too mechanical. Itachi had paid for this, he should be enjoying himself - he should have at least thanked him, you know? (What's wrong with you?)

"Hey, Itachi?"

His brother looked up, chopsticks falling from halfway back to his plate. "Yes?"

"Thanks. You know, for this. It's nice." His words sounded hollow even to his own ears, and he wondered if Itachi heard it too. He probably didn't, because he gave a small smile, which looked genuine, and returned to his food.

"You're welcome…. We should do things like this more often, don't you think?"

Sasuke smiled back, the gesture only _half_-forced. "Yeah."

"But," Itachi continued, eyes still on his plate, as if he didn't want to look up just then, "if you're spending so much time away, that might be hard."

Maybe it was the tone Itachi had taken, or the choice of words, but Sasuke found himself suddenly tense. (Nervous, was it? The guilty have a way of assuming things, thinking that everyone suspects their wrongdoing - which is something they are incapable of changing, because it's grown with the act. It's like a poison. You can't stop it.)

"What else do you want me to do?" Sasuke asked, trying not to meet his brother's eyes. Itachi wasn't even looking up. "It's not like we ever do anything, and besides -"

"What about this?" Itachi asked. He had brought his head up and his eyes were glowing, but his voice remained calm. "We could do things like this more often, but you never seem to want to."

"What the _hell_ are you talking about?" Sasuke could feel his voice growing a little higher, a little more frantic with each sentence. This was no longer a simple exchange, these were accusations he flung across the table, quick and meant to kill (to hide behind). "You're the one who spends every second locked up in your room or out with Kisame! And you're telling me _I_ don't want to do anything? You're not even _home_ half the time!"

"You're guilty too Sasuke. Don't tell me I'm the only one, please."

"I- W-what?"

His brother's face was oddly shadowed, his fingers tapping a continuous silent rhythm against one of his chopsticks.

"The other day - when I was out with Kisame, actually - I saw you in that coffee shop you like to go to. You were with Orochimaru, who I think you know -"

"Don't tell me who I can talk to, Itachi."

"I wasn't going to." Itachi paused, preoccupied with the chopstick he was tapping his fingers against. It struck Sasuke that his brother might be nervous, because that was what nervous people did, wasn't it? They fiddled with things, they tapped their feet, they moved just a little in constant, repetitive motion. The blinking of a chronic liar (can't meet your eyes!). Sasuke's body was quivering.

"I don't think you should keep seeing him though. You're…." Itachi paused to find the right words, then: "I told you I didn't like him, and -"

"And you're in complete control of my life, right?" Sasuke cut in, struggling to keep his voice steady. His knuckles had turned white, the pressure they exerted enough to leave white bloodless marks on his skin. "Whatever you say I have to do?"

"That's not what I-"

"It _is_ what you meant. I'm - I'm sick of listening to you. And you… you can't tell me what to do when we barely know each other."

And there it was. That dirty nasty secret he himself had been keeping. That crack.

He climbed to his feet, quivering (with anger, was it? Or some other emotion entirely?) Itachi's head was bowed, but his shoulders, hunched a little, and his hands, drawn inward, gave Sasuke a good guess at whatever emotion he was trying to conceal.

Sasuke found it difficult to keep his voice even when he spoke, but he managed to force out another, halting, "I'm sick of listening to you," with his fists clenched painfully tight. He left the restaurant without a backward glance and no guilt. Only anger, and nothing else. What he left was Itachi sitting in front of his half-eaten Yakisoba, his hands concealed in his lap, his head bowed. There was a bitter smile on his face, and as he lowered his face into his hands, he laughed, body trembling.

"What a mess…."

****

o

Sasuke stayed in his room for exactly six seconds, just long enough to grab a sticky note and a permanent red pen. Pausing at the front door to slap the paper and its message on its surface, he then left the apartment altogether.

Itachi would be coming home eventually, and Sasuke couldn't bear to be there when he did. He didn't even want to be in his room with the door shut, his headphones on so loud he was aware of nothing else, because he wouldn't be able to stand it. He knew that if he saw Itachi so soon, he'd… he'd _something_. There wasn't any guilt, though. No, at the moment he was still full to bursting of anger, which was responsible for the words he'd scrawled on the sticky note now stuck to the front door for everyone - including Itachi - to see. The anger which was responsible for the way his feet hit the pavement, sharp and quick, on his way to Orochimaru's apartment.

He was lucky to remember the way, actually, seeing as he'd only been there once before, and he managed to remember the floor and room number as well. Orochimaru met him with a smile, finishing a phone call with a quick, "I'll call you back tomorrow." The phone disappeared into his pocket, and he held out a hand, inviting him in.

"Thanks," Sasuke said, giving the older man a small smile.

"Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Orochimaru asked, heading for the kitchen. There was already a kettle on the stove, wisps of smoke rising and curling from it until they disappeared. "I'd expected to have to invite you over. Would you like some tea? I was making some for myself, but…."

"Um, yeah. Sure." Sasuke picked out a packet of green tea this time, holding it with both hands as he leaned against the counter. "Itachi and I had an argument - about you, actually - and I just…." He shrugged, fingering the packet's paper flap. He could smell the tea, a little strong, but once diluted it should be fine. "I figured you wouldn't mind if I came over."

"Of course not." Orochimaru, having just filled his own cup, offered Sasuke the kettle. "If you don't mind me asking, though, why were you arguing about me?"

Sasuke was silent, watching his teabag settle on the surface of water. Most of the cup was filled with great lazy spirals, pale green, that colored the water from the bottom up. There were a few areas that escaped it, but.… He swirled the cup a little, taking a sip from entirely colored water. Orochimaru had seated himself on the counter, his legs pulling themselves into the lotus position, teacup in hand, where he waited patiently for Sasuke's answer.

When Sasuke had stepped into the apartment his anger had faded, and now he found it had gone altogether, replaced by a dull resentment. Perhaps it was that the cause of his anger (Itachi) was no longer present, or maybe it was Orochimaru being there, whom he had nothing at all against, but it left him. When he spoke, his voice was a little tired.

"When he was out with Kisame a few days ago - it was probably Tuesday because we were out pretty late then - but he saw you and me at that coffee shop. I guess he got mad because he didn't like you, and he expected me to understand that, or something. He said he didn't want me to see you anymore." He laughed, tracing the rim of his cup. "I don't know. He's… he's been kind of weird lately; he's always out with Kisame, and when he's home I never see him." He smirked. "Course, it's been that way for a while now."

Orochimaru remained silent, though his eyes didn't leave the younger boy.

"He thinks he can tell me what to do all the time, but… when we never talk, never even see each other, really, I don't think it still works like that. Do you?"

"You're old enough to make your own decisions," Orochimaru said quietly, placing his teacup to rest between his knees. "At this point the only thing your brother can do is give you advice. It's your decision to follow it or not, but I think you should remember that he's bound to be a little prejudiced against me given our history."

Sasuke was quiet, watching the ripples that faded across the surface of his tea, disappearing before they reached the sides. He knew all that, and he understood. It was a little complicated, but he could never find the resolve to sit down and think everything out, and work out the kinks as they came instead of letting them pile up until he was left with one big mess. A mess like this was one he couldn't even attempt to conceal, not anymore.

(And like an infection, it spreads….

It can't be stopped….)

Bright and glaringly ugly, distorted beyond recognition. Hadn't they had a good relationship once? He seemed to remember a time when they went to the park, lay in the grass and the sun, climbed trees and threw shuriken like ninja in their backyard. They'd had a house once, when their parents were still alive, but it had been sold a long time ago. Now they were little more than strangers, really.

"My God," Sasuke murmured, setting his cup aside. Orochimaru didn't question the words, and, in the silence, Sasuke brought his face into his hands. He then inhaled, looking to Orochimaru across the stove. "Would you mind… would it be okay if I stayed here tonight? I mean, just to -"

Orochimaru nodded, setting his cup aside.

"Of course. I'll get a few blankets, and you can sleep on the couch."

He went into another room, leaving Sasuke to swing his legs back and forth just a little, enough so that, when they bumped against the counter, faint ripples spread over the surface of the tea.

"Do you want something to eat?" Orochimaru asked, coming out of the other room with a few blankets folded in his arms. He dropped them on the couch before coming into the kitchen, glancing at the cupboards. "Would you like some pancakes?"

It was an English word Sasuke didn't recognize. "Some what?"

"Pancakes. They're an American food, a lot like okonomi_-_yaki only without the stuffing, They're mainly for breakfast, but they can be a dinner food too. Sometimes they pour liquid sugar on them." A smile had come over Orochimaru's face, and he reached for his tea again, hiding the expression behind his cup.

"Uh… no thanks. I just ate anyway - Itachi and I went out to eat, remember?"

"Oh, that's right." The older man paused, eyes falling on a cupboard near Sasuke's head. "Some soda then? There's a few in that cabinet behind you."

Sasuke turned to it, ducking his head to bring the door over him. There were sodas on the bottom shelf, but the majority of the cupboard was dedicated to glittering bottles filled with other, far more expensive liquids. There were a number of rectangle bottles, clear and filled with clear substances. Vodka. And there was wine, and there in the back were a few bottles of beer - though not many, most of it was the finer types of drink. This, apparently, was Orochimaru's liquor cabinet.

"You drink?" Sasuke asked, attempting to hide his surprise as he turned toward back. "You have alcohol _here_, I mean, in your house; everyone drinks, really…."

Orochimaru turned (was that a wince?), pausing when he saw what Sasuke had discovered. "I have problems," he corrected, giving an apologetic smile. "Everyone does, really…."

He gestured for Sasuke to close the cabinet, and the glittering bottles were once more sheltered behind their door. They hadn't been very dusty at all, as if they were used. Not _often_, perhaps, but they saw the light of day every now and then. Of course, once a bottle was opened, it couldn't very well be put into storage again. One had to drink it, all of it, and it was such a pity to throw it away if one _didn't_ drink it, because the better stuff was so expensive nowadays.

Vodka-wine-cocaine-marijuana-(happiness)….

Sasuke slid off the counter, following Orochimaru out into the living room. This room, like the others, was much like his and Itachi's apartment aside from the arrangement of furniture. There was a window in exactly the same place, so that if Sasuke were to sit at the kitchen table he would be able see the sky. At the moment it was a deep blue streaked with red and gold and purple - sunset colors - as the day sank into layers of smog. And it was only, what, seven? But it was winter, nearly, so shorter days were inevitable, as was the ice, as was the rain, as was that blanket of gloom that seemed to settle, invisible, in winter because people hated to be cooped up.

Orochimaru spread the blankets out on the couch, handing Sasuke a few throw pillows. "I don't have any regular ones, I'm afraid," he apologized.

Sasuke shook his head, accepting the pillows and dropping them on one end of the couch. "It's fine; I really don't care."

A few hours later, as they sat on the couch to watch a horror film with a bowl of popcorn between them, Sasuke realized that this was what he wanted with Itachi. These easy conversations, comfortable silences, familiarity and friendship rather than brotherhood, which could mean so very little at times.

He took a few kernels of popcorn into his mouth, wincing when, onscreen, a giant wolf leaped out to maul the heroine. It was a black-and-white picture, horribly corny with awful special effects (he could see the tubes the 'blood' ran through for God's sake), but it was a classic. On the other side of the couch, Orochimaru winced as well.

This was what he wanted with Itachi.

And, still later (when Orochimaru had gone to bed, and he himself lay on the couch staring out the window), he became certain. Because, for the first time in a very long while, he was happy. And he loved it.

****

o

__

Itachi. November something.

__

Happiness, I think, is something that must be found, unearthed like fossil. It does not come without trouble, because success implies a struggle to reach it. I've been trying so hard, but I think the fight is wearing out of me. Things are troubled, Kisame is not enough, the drugs and drinks - not enough. Sasuke is not enough, and hasn't been for some time now. If you put no effort into a thing it flounders and dies. I've been watching our relationship die, and have done nothing.

I don't know what I want anymore. I think that I did, once, a very long time ago, but not today. Today I don't know anything.

Today I am a Failure.

o

All the lights were off when Itachi arrived home that night, leaving the windows to stare blankly into the street. There was no need to be hush about his arrival, but he found himself moving quietly nonetheless, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the apartment. The hallways were brightly lit, courtesy of the landlord, but the apartment was the exact opposite, and the sudden contrast left shifting blue patterns on his eyelids.

He flicked on the kitchen light, moving toward the cabinets alongside the refrigerator. In his fist was the now-crumpled sticky note Sasuke left for him on their front door, but when he knelt Itachi dropped it on the counter. In the cabinet he was digging through - in the way back, where Sasuke wouldn't see unless he really looked - were a few select bottles of vodka, beer, and other alcoholics. Itachi didn't use it often, rarely opened the cabinet door in fact, because Kisame had more than enough, but tonight he felt justified in taking a few bottles.

He doubted Sasuke would be coming home at all, given the message he'd left on the door.

Itachi poured himself a glass of wine, tossing the corkscrew he'd used on the counter. It came out a deep red - good wine, and it should be, given the fact that it was nearly fifty years old. It was, unless he was mistaken, the same wine his parents had had at their wedding.

There was a picture in his closet of the event, an elegantly framed photo with two happy faces beaming back at him whenever he cared to examine it. He hadn't been born then, - he hadn't been born until some years later, in fact - but he could imagine the day. It had been a little windy, judging by his mother's hair, sunny, a little warm, and every person there was smiling.

After their parents were killed Itachi packed all those photos away, and, since Sasuke never asked about them, they had remained unviewed for years.

Taking his glass and the wine bottle with him, Itachi went into his room. It was messier than usual today - he hadn't wanted to clean it at all - but his closet was still neat. He found the boxes easily, though he had a bit more trouble getting them down from the top shelf, and carried them into the kitchen. He poured himself another glass of wine, and, brushing a few loose strands of hair behind his ear, began working the tape off the box. On the top of the stacks was the wedding picture, just as he remembered it, and he lifted it almost reverently, taking in the details. He was hardly aware of the air that pushed itself from between his lips. It was a gentle sigh, warm and maybe a little wistful as well.

Just the same as it had ever been.

He lay it aside and picked up an envelope, flipping through the pictures with a fervent, desperate sort of energy. He could feel tears building behind his eyes, a slow pressure that would eventually get the better of him, and he pored over the pictures (memories) as if to keep them at bay by doing so. Two envelopes, three and then four; faces smiling back at him from every rectangle, happy and beaming. Better days, these (meaning, of course, that the present day was not so glamorous, not so full of hope and promise. A few less lies, a little more real).

"We were so happy then," Itachi mumbled, tears blurring the photo he held in both hands. It was an old one, taken by their father during a trip somewhere. Kyoto maybe. He and Sasuke were standing on a bridge with their mother, and there was a beautiful pond in the background, the kind that had all but disappeared from Tokyo. A multitude of koi in the water, bright orange and white, glimmering wetly in the sunshine. Itachi had his arm around Sasuke in the picture, and both were smiling,

"What happened? I tried, didn't I?"

And yes, he had. That was the truth. He had tried oh-so hard (though perhaps not, perhaps, now that he thinks about it, he could have tried a bit harder, and the thought makes him feel even worse), and now it looked like it all had come to nothing. What he hoped for (happiness, just maybe?)- was gone. His neck, lolling, allowed his chin to fall against his chest. He felt so… like such a failure.

The picture fell from his hands, fluttering to the tiles like some wounded bird. It landed atop the crumpled note Sasuke had left - fallen from the counter in these last few minutes, he supposed - and Itachi's eyes found it, reading the letters to his fogged brain.

'_FUCK YOU_'.

A hitched, ragged breath. His face in his hands.

"Oh God…."


	5. Swell

****

Fukai

__

By Insomniac Owl

Chapter 5: Swell

The sun was nearly blinding when Sasuke rose the next morning, wiping sleep from his eyes. It was Sunday, and though the day usually promised sunshine and relative warmth, a great mass of clouds had come during the night, smashing any hope of that. They were dark, heavy clouds, too. They promised rain. Only yesterday the sky had been a bright, burning blue, but… it went to show how unpredictable the weather could be sometimes.

He had watched a show on TV not too long ago, in which a small group of scientists had followed hurricanes in the U.S., filming their development and as much of their short lifespan as possible. It was frightening, really, how quickly those clouds could touch down, ripping furrows in the earth and destroying anything and everything they touched, as if with some warped Midas touch. And what they left was even more so. Entire neighborhoods laid to waste, and, in places, a single house still standing, untouched, the hurricane - for whatever reason - having seen fit to spare it. The unfortunates staring in blatant disbelief….

The refrigerator door was opening in the kitchen; closing, opening again. Sasuke could see Orochimaru's back over the counter - a bar, really, though there were no stools.

"What are you making?" Sasuke called, voice a little raspy with sleep. He cleared his throat, bringing one of the blankets around his shoulders as he stood.

"Pancakes," Orochimaru answered.

"Oh."

Sasuke seated himself on the counter, watching Orochimaru bring out a few eggs. He handed them to Sasuke, gesturing toward the bowl on the counter beside him. It was already half full with a beige powder, clumpy in places, and he added the eggs, tossing the shells into the sink. The eggs sat stationary and lifeless as stranded twin jellyfish. They refused to assimilate until Orochimaru forced it, stirring the mixture into a thin, dough substance that he ladled into a frying pan.

"And Americans actually eat that so plain?" Sasuke said distastefully, leaning over to watch. There were four circles in all, but they didn't seem to be doing anything. There were none of the bubbles, hisses, or explosions that Americans seemed so fond of, and in fact it was a little boring.

Orochimaru nodded, taking out a spatula to lay beside the stove. "Often, I think."

"With nothing else though? I've seen some vendors selling them with sweet red bean paste, as a sort of sandwich, I guess, but not…."

"They like them this way," Orochimaru replied. "They're decent, actually; you can try them when they're done if you'd like."

From the living room, two steps from the television, there came three short knocks on the front door. Sasuke slid off the counter and stepped toward it, but Orochimaru handed him the spatula, giving him a little push toward the stove.

"I'll get it," he said. "It won't be for you anyway; it's _my_ house."

Sasuke went to the stove instead, prodding the pancakes with the spatula. They were getting a little dry on the edges, and he flipped one over, secretly delighted to find it a nice golden brown. At the door Orochimaru was talking with someone, quietly, and though the door hid the visitor Sasuke recognized the voice. It was a little hoarse, but steady enough. He left the spatula beside the stove, dropping his blanket on the couch as he came to stand in view of the doorway.

"Sasuke…." His name came as barely more than a whisper. Kisame gave him a weak smile, stepping past Orochimaru, who looked more than a little annoyed at the man's entrance. He allowed it, however, going back into the kitchen and taking up the spatula Sasuke had left, though the younger could see him watching from the corners of his eyes.

Sasuke followed Kisame into the hallway, though it was obvious to anyone that he hesitated. Kisame's eyes didn't look right to him; a little too hollow, a little too off. He hadn't smiled at all either - not a real one, anyway, the one he'd given earlier had been forced, as hollow as the glance he now cast Sasuke.

"Fuck," he whispered, leaning against the wall. "Look," he said, then stopped, throat working.

Sasuke shoved his hands into his pockets, settling into himself as he watched Kisame swallow, run a hand through his short hair. "How did you know where he lived?" Sasuke asked, quietly (meaning Orochimaru), because it seemed the right thing to do. Kisame looked as if he was about to either break down crying or laugh hysterically, neither of which he was particularly eager to see.

Kisame looked up, glad for the distraction, but his voice was still broken, halting, when he spoke. "The police," he said, lifting one hand in a vague gesture. "They got me the address. I said you'd probably be here since you weren't home, and…. Fuck." The curse was followed by another silence, this one not dragging but pushing forwards, so that Kisame spoke quickly, though it was obvious he couldn't find anything more to say. "Sasuke, you know…. Goddammit," he whispered. "Itachi's dead, kid, okay? They… they think it was a suicide. No, fuck that, it _was_. He took the pills and the vodka and shit and…. God, I'm sorry Sasuke. I'm so goddamn sorry."

Silence.

Sasuke's head had fallen back against the wall, his eyes vaguely focused on the lighting overhead. A series of red lamps, placed every five steps on alternating sides. His head was completely blank, however, and he felt it difficult to concentrate even on the lights. His fingers were fiddling with his jacket zipper only because he could feel Kisame's eyes on him, and he didn't want him to think he'd died too.

There was a dull sort of pressure just behind his eyes, not quite a pain but a throb. That was the inevitable tears, building up, piling up with steady determined patience. But they could only be so patient, he knew, and soon, soon, soon…. For now, however, he concentrated on those lights, thinking to himself how lovely they were in a repetitive, chanting mantra.

"Do you want some pancakes?" he then asked suddenly, eyes coming down toward at his (now deceased) brother's friend. Kisame stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. Slowly. Sadly.

"No thanks, kid."

"O-okay." He forced a smile (lying through his teeth), which Kisame returned (just as fakely) as he turned away.

"See you later."

Sasuke watched him leave, eyes wet (no, no they weren't, those _weren't_ tears!). "Yeah…. Bye."

When Kisame had turned a corner and was out of sight, Sasuke headed back into Orochimaru's apartment. The door had been left open a crack, and he was glad, because he doubted he would have been able to ring himself to turn the knob if it hadn't been. Orochimaru was still in the kitchen, but there was a plate with seven pancakes on it beside him. He turned, saying nothing as Sasuke came into the kitchen. Then: "Are you alright?"

Sasuke felt himself nod.

"Oh?" Orochimaru's tone was gently persistent, not pressing or demanding, and it didn't annoy him in the slightest. Sasuke leaned against the counter, eyes fixing themselves on his beat-up sneakers. His hands had placed themselves in his pockets when Kisame had gone, but now he brought them out, slowly, to stare at his palms.

"I…." He swallowed, just as Kisame had done. A way to stall, and find the right words - if there were any. "I, um… no?" There weren't, but that didn't stop them from coming. "Itachi just… he…he killed himself, not too long ago, and… I don't know what…." He brought the heels of his hands to rest in his eye sockets, kneading the organs. He could feel them give a little, a unique composition, and he kept at it because he could feel tears leaking through his fingers. "Dammit…." He didn't want them, he didn't want to feel weak, helpless, worthless, but they came nonetheless.

"I could have done something, you know?" Once he said that, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was true. All those times Itachi had offered to go someplace with him, a movie, shopping, for a walk; all those times he'd turned down (whether out of simple laziness, or if it was something else, he wasn't quite sure even now, but) he should have accepted. Over the years he'd watched the crack between them grow a little wider, a little more daunting. He had begun to eye it with fear, partially because it seemed like too great an effort to bridge it again - no, for the first time, because it hadn't been there before - but mostly because he feared that he would be unable to do so. That he would test himself, and be found inadequate.

"I just… _God_…."

Orochimaru had come to stand beside him, one hand touching his shoulder, and then his arm, and then drawing him into a loose embrace. Comfort - or something enough like it that it didn't matter.

Sasuke allowed his eyes to fall closed then, hands going limp at his sides. His lips were trembling, and every so often the tears would reach a certain point and come slipping past his closed lids, tracing paths down his cheekbones, lingering for a time at his lips. He could taste the salt.

Over the years, he had become so adept at lying to himself that he hardly noticed it any more. He didn't, actually, not at all.

(_As to a poison, as to a disease, we become immune._)

At first it had been only his lips, but it spread until his entire body was trembling. Orochimaru's arms tightened accordingly, though not so much as to be suffocating, and Sasuke's own arms came up, wrapping themselves around the older man.

(Tell me I'm not a hypocrite. Tell me I'm worth something. Tell me it's going to be okay. But please… don't tell me the truth.)

Orochimaru remained silent, and, slowly, Sasuke found what comfort he could and withdrew, making a quick pass at his eyes to wipe away the tears. Orochimaru wore a sad little smile, reminiscent of the one Kisame had worn earlier, though this one seemed a bit more genuine.

"I'm sorry. Sasuke."

And the words weren't a lie; Sasuke knew that much.

****

o

The funeral was held the following Friday, after school let out (though Sasuke hadn't been the entire week), and after the wake service Sasuke had stayed up most of the night for. Kisame had taken care of most of the arrangements, only calling him for the biggest, most important things - to spare him, Sasuke supposed, which was terribly thoughtful of him.

The weather was nice again, the clouds that had gathered and fallen Sunday-Monday washed away in their own rain. It was still cold out, but it was winter now, and to be expected.

Seated near Itachi's coffin, as tradition dictated, Sasuke stared out the (Western-style) stained glass window with his hands in his lap. It was a pretty collage of color, though there was no pattern to it that he could see. It seemed a mix of tiles, fitted together in a way the designer had hoped would work. Yet for its random placement, it was beautiful in a strange, unhelpful way.

Most of the funeral was a blur, the sickening, choking scent of the incense filling his mind and blocking out much else. It might also have had something to do with the fact that he was slightly drunk, having gone through Orochimaru's liquor cabinet a few hours before. (If Orochimaru noticed either the alcohol's disappearance or Sasuke's drunkenness, he kept silent.) Orochimaru himself was seated just behind Sasuke, dressed in black just like all the others, eyes downcast in the same manner. And when his turn came, he offered incense as all the others had, the priest's chanting white noise in the background.

The image was one Sasuke remembered - Orochimaru's long hair, tied back, and the formal suit he wore. The white-blue haze of incense rising, a thin eel that twisted and writhed before disappearing altogether. The curve of his spine as he bowed, once, twice.

Sasuke doubted that Itachi would have wanted Orochimaru at his funeral, but _Sasuke_ had wanted him there, wanted him there badly enough to ignore honoring the deads' wishes. Bad karma, curses - he really didn't care.

He sighed a little, interlacing his fingers in his lap. There were flowers arranged behind Itachi's coffin, which, along the cloths placed over the altar and the table near the entrance, were white. Everything else was black. Only in the stained glass window was there color, and then in such a bright explosion that Sasuke could hardly stand to look at it for more than a few moments. His head was swimming, and he doubted it was due entirely to either the alcohol or the incense, though likely made worse by both. He managed to rise when the priest left however, forcing words of thanks past his lips.

When the master of ceremonies began to read telegrams, Sasuke found himself unable to stand it. His head was spinning, his stomach ready to vomit, and, excusing himself to sympathetic glances, he left the ceremony room.

There was a bathroom down the hall to the right, just past the drinking fountain, and he made his way toward it, avoiding the glances of the few people he passed. His hands, hidden deep in his pockets, fiddled with a stray thread to mimic his eyes, and when he reached the bathroom they took a fierce hold on the counter, glad of the chance to pour of his emotion (though temporarily, granted) into the quivering of exertion. His head ached too badly to hold on for long - the action seemed to intensify the throbbing - and he allowed his body to fall against the wall, so slippery he nearly slid to the floor.

His hollow laugh echoed through the room, and when he heard it echoed (duplicated, actually, because it wasn't _his_ laugh but an entirely new one) he was hardly surprised. He hadn't seen Kisame leaning against the opposite wall (was he going blind? Blind as well as deaf? All that music, all so loud, he knew), but it hardly shocked him. He was too tired to jump. The wake service had drained most of his energy, and he'd stayed awake only with the help of Orochimaru's stolen liquor. He felt hollow now, as if the drink had sucked everything inside him away.

"Hey," Kisame said, raising one hand. Clasped in his fist was the neck of a bottle, a little more than half empty.

"Hey," Sasuke answered.

"So… how was the funeral?" Across the blue-green bathroom tiles Kisame set his bottle aside, the click echoed and magnified. Sasuke shrugged. He realized then, glancing at his (deceased) brother's friend, that he hadn't seen Kisame at the funeral at all, though he should have been. Sasuke had watched for him at first, but….

"It's still going on."

"Skipping out on your brother's funeral?" He didn't sound incredulous, Sasuke decided, labeling the grin that spread over Kisame's face then as simply 'drunk', though perhaps a little appreciative as well. Something Itachi would have done, maybe, though Sasuke knew perfectly well that he wouldn't have. Itachi would have sat, hands neatly folded, and pretended to pay attention - if only to be polite.

(Can you know that, though? Really truly? Kisame knows - knew - him better than you, don't you know _that_ at least? There was that crack, if you'll recall…. You owe it to him to be truthful.)

It wasn't quite sadness, but grief (an entirely new word with a different connotation altogether. It implied a sadness for something lost, and so, because of that, a little less general and little more true) that filled him then. Itachi was never-coming-back, dead, gone forever. There would be no chance to repair the crack he'd seen - though, really, it had been quite a bit more than a simple crack, hadn't it? It had been a gulf, a chasm, a gaping hollow, deeper and wider and that much more impossible to mend (or so he'd told himself, because it was easier to swallow, and easier to do nothing about).

"Look, kid. If you don't miss him, don't lie to yourself," Kisame said, lifting his bottle to his lips. "Don't lie to _me_."

"I'm not lying," Sasuke protested. And his words were true. He did miss Itachi - how could he not? They were _brothers_. There had been that crack, true, that gap, but it didn't make the pain any easier to bear. If anything, it made it worse - to know he'd done nothing about it, to know he _could_ have done something about it….

"I do miss him," he said, bringing his arms around his knees, his chin to rest atop them.

Kisame sat with his legs propped against the tiles floor, his boots (thick, heavy, black, probably steel-toed as well) keeping them from sliding as Sasuke himself had done. "Good," he said, hiding his expression for a moment with the distorting glass of his bottle. "Me too. You want some?" He offered the bottle across the room, but Sasuke declined.

"No thanks."

There was silence for the briefest of moments, then Kisame set the bottle down again. The same clink, echoed and magnified. Then: "Fuck, I couldn't even stand to go in there. I don't plan on going to the crematorium either, I…." He sighed, made a vague gesture with one hand. He said nothing more, instead bringing the bottle to his lips for a third time.

It was all but empty now, and when he set it back down the clink it made was a little more hollow, without much swish of liquid inside it. "So why'd you leave?" he asked.

Sasuke gave a little shrug. "Same reason you didn't come, probably." A smirk crept onto his face, and he heard Kisame laugh, the sound jangling - bitter, guilty. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just probably true." Kisame paused to drain the last of his bottle. His eyes were a little glazed, but perfectly steady. So much alcohol - he'd probably built up an immunity. "You know what though, kid? You remind me of him; a damn lot. He liked you a damn lot too; I know you weren't too close, but he did."

Sasuke nodded, his chin falling against his knees again. His fingers had stilled, limp against the cool tile, and the tears were creeping up, a slow blur. "Yeah… I know that." That, if nothing else, was something he _did_ know. Something he couldn't lie to himself about, though he was trying not to anymore - not as much, at least. He doubted if he could ever stop completely (ingrained, habitual, poison-creeping-in), but he could try, right? Yes, he could try. There was nothing worse, after all, than _not_ doing so, and knowing you could have stopped that tiny crack from becoming something more dangerous.

Lies made things easier; but they could be so destructive (and how well Sasuke knew _that_).

"Yeah…." Kisame held the empty bottle in his hands, staring through the glass. The world was warped and distorted beyond it, a slow circle that stretched and stretched until it popped back into place at the edges. He sighed, lifting himself to his feet.

Sasuke watched him walk across the room, a little unsteady (a _(n understatement_, _not a) _lie), one hand tracing the edge of the counter to keep himself balanced. He dropped his drink into the trashcan near the door, turning to look at Sasuke one last time. "Well…." He gave a slight smile, more genuine than it had been. "See you around kid. Maybe I'll drop by sometime."

"You should."

(the truth)

The door swung shut, blocking him from sight altogether, and Sasuke allowed himself one more sigh before he followed, deciding that he should return to the funeral. They would be missing him, being the deceased's brother and all. He _really_ didn't want to go to the crematorium afterwards, though, didn't want to watch them slide Itachi into the furnace, or oven, or whatever it was they used to burn people with, didn't want to pick up his bones ("There's the Adam's apple," the guide would say, "don't forget it; it's one of the most important parts"), because it would make things so much more final than even the funeral did.

But Itachi was gone, and it was of little use to lie to himself about it. No use at all. What use had any of those lies served, really, other than blinding him to the truth? Other than ruining his relationship with Itachi in a glorious hideous mess….

Sasuke slipped through the funeral hall doors as silently as possible, past the small sign with Itachi's new name engraved on it (posthumous, false, fake - all the same. Look who's lying now, right?) and took his seat in front of Orochimaru again. The master of ceremonies was still reading the telegrams, and Sasuke's head was still buzzing - though he no longer felt ill, at least. Shifting a little in his seat, he listened with his hands folded in his lap, attentive. If only to be polite.

Behind him, Orochimaru gave his shoulder a light squeeze.


	6. Come Kindly

****

Fukai

__

By Insomniac Owl

Chapter 6: Come Kindly

Coming back didn't hurt as much as he'd expected. Standing in the doorway with Orochimaru's car idling just past the sidewalk, Sasuke felt as if he were simply coming home. Nothing different.

Except, of course, that Itachi wasn't there.

The thought sent a flicker of pain through his mind, a flicker of guilt (for what he hadn't done), but he pushed it away to focus on the task at hand. The police had left things more or less as they'd found them, with the exception of a few items they'd taken for evidence - the picture that had been in Itachi lap when they'd found him, a glass, a bottle, a crumpled sticky note. Other than that, things were as they had been, the only difference being the boxes set out on the living room floor.

He'd been told Itachi had been looking at them when he died - or so they assumed, it wasn't for certain but neither was it difficult to guess - and a curious sensation swept through him at the sight of them, splayed out in a semi-circle on the floor. It was the feeling one got when one walked into a haunted house; that shiver down your spine. Not a week ago Itachi had sat there, flipping through photos of days long past, vacations long over, knowing the pills he'd swallowed were going to kill him.

Sasuke paused, brushing his hand over the back of the couch as he made his way around it. He seated himself in the semicircle of photos, careful not to disturb a single one, and began to look them over. There was a vacation their family had taken to Kyoto one year, another to the beach - it had been cold, so they hadn't stayed long, though, only an hour or so. And there was one just beside his knee of himself and Itachi in their backyard. Their mother had caught them off guard in that one; the younger Sasuke had a surprised expression on his face, and Itachi was in the middle of blowing a bubble through the plastic wand he held. He couldn't have been more than seven then, and Sasuke himself looked only three, maybe even two years old….

Giving himself a mental shake, Sasuke rose again, just as carefully, and made his way upstairs. He went into his own room first, admitting silently that he didn't want to go into Itachi's just yet. (Yes, he was a little afraid, a little hesitant, unsure of himself and what he would find and so he put it off just a little longer. He would go eventually - he had to, really.) His bed was unmade, as usual, and it looked the same as it had when he'd left it last week, rushing through on his way to slap a note on the door.

Sasuke winced at the memory (guilty, still).

Most of his clothing went into his backpack, along with his CDs and a few other things he felt he might need soon or that he wanted - a few books, a few pictures - and he cast one last glance around the space. Relatively clean, but that didn't matter. He would have what he wanted taken out later, along with some of Itachi's things, but the rest could be sold.

Somewhere downstairs a door shut, and Sasuke realized he could no longer hear Orochimaru's car idling outside.

"Are you coming in?" he called, hoisting his bag onto one shoulder.

"Should I not?"

Sasuke took one last look around before stepping out into the hallway, closing his door behind him. "No, it's fine," he replied, taking the stairs two at a time just the same.

Orochimaru was rummaging through the kitchen cupboards when he arrived, his back turned, but his head came around when he heard Sasuke's footsteps on the stairs.

"If you're looking for tea, it's in the third cabinet from the stove, right side," Sasuke told him, dropping his bag on the couch. Orochimaru smiled.

"You know me too well."

Sasuke gave a small smile of his own, glancing at the pictures still spread over the floor. After a moment's hesitation he knelt, and began sweeping them into a pile, which he then fitted back into the boxes. "He must have gotten these out not long after…" he murmured, not intending to finish the thought, but forcing it out anyway, "after he took the pills."

"I could pack up his things for you," Orochimaru said, turning from the stove. There was a kettle sitting on it now, and, just below it, the burner was beginning to glow a soft pink.

"No thanks; I'd rather do it," Sasuke answered. (Because, really, it would be too easy to hand off the job, forsake responsibility and the guilt he knew would come simply from stepping into Itachi's room, but he can't.)

"Any way I can help, then?"

Sasuke bit his lip, then shook his head. "Not really. Letting me stay with you is more than enough. And… you know, thanks for that. You didn't have to."

"Not at all; I could use the company," Orochimaru replied, taking two teacups from the cupboard just to the right of the stove. The burner was glowing cherry red now, and Sasuke could hear it hissing. "Besides," Orochimaru continued, setting the cups out and dropping a teabag into one, "it's not as if you have anyplace else to stay, is it? I'm happy to be of help, Sasuke; you don't need to pretend I'm doing you a favor."

"But you are!" Sasuke protested. Orochimaru snorted, waving one hand dismissively over his shoulder.

"Be quiet," he commanded, and Sasuke, lips curved in a slight smile, obeyed. "Now, what kind of tea do you want?"

"Green is fine."

When the water was hot Orochimaru poured them each a cupful, leaving the kettle to cool on the stove. He came to stand beside Sasuke, leaning against the couch as he handed the younger boy his cup. Sasuke blew on the surface, sending ripples dancing over it.

"You know," he said quietly after a while, "I really should thank you. Not just for letting me stay with you, but for being there."

"Really?"

Sasuke looked up at Orochimaru's tone. "What?" he asked. "Is that so surprising?"

Orochimaru shook his head, lips curving into a bitter smirk. "No, no… I suppose not. It's simply that I think you should be blaming me, at least partially, for all of this. It _is_ my fault, after all - hardly deniable, Sasuke."

Sasuke frowned, looking to set his cup down as he did so. Finding no immediate surface, he bent and placed it on the floor instead. "What do you mean?" he asked, turning his full attention to Orochimaru. The older man's eyes were focused on his cup, twin golden shimmers on a surface fluid enough to erase any emotion Sasuke might have seen there. He didn't need to, however, as Orochimaru raised his eyes to his, setting the cup precariously on the sofa's arm.

"I know you were aware of Itachi's dislike for me, yet you disobeyed his wishes and kept our meetings, though you knew full well he disapproved."

Sasuke averted his eyes, wincing (yes, that's true, isn't it? And the truth hurts sometimes - especially if you've been cushioning yourself with lies for years and years. When you've been doing that, the truth seems like a very cruel thing indeed), but Orochimaru seemed not to notice.

"It seems," he continued, "that I served as the catalyst for your brother's suicide, doesn't it? And -" his voice rose a little when Sasuke made to object, "if not that, then at the very least I contributed to it. You said your fight was over your continued meetings, didn't you? And if I recall correctly, it was the very next day that Kisame came to tell you of Itachi's death."

"But -"

"So if I hadn't come into the picture, it's entirely likely that Itachi would still be alive. Isn't that right?"

"You don't get it," Sasuke objected, ignoring the surprise that came over Orochimaru's face. His voice had come a little harsh, pressing itself from lips turned downward. "We… our relationship was going down before I ever met you. Maybe his killing himself was inevitable, but it… it wasn't entirely your fault. Maybe you helped it along, but you didn't cause it."

"And you know that for certain because…."

"Because _I'm_ the one that caused it."

His fingers had tightened around the edge of the couch as he spoke, but now they relaxed, falling into his lap passively. Though his bangs had fallen into his eyes, he still saw Orochimaru's face - surprised, then soft.

"Sasuke…."

But nothing more, because he knew it was the truth.

"I'm sorry, really, I am. But it doesn't do any good blaming yourself. You know that." Sasuke heard the breath he took then, a pause, to stall and find the right words (which were often so hard in coming, and it was important to get the right ones, too…. Ones that were true and that really meant something. It didn't do any good to tell the truth if it wasn't the right kind, after all; that's what politicians do. It's not that they lie, not exactly - though some certainly do - but instead they tell half-truths, or things which were true five years ago.)

(Tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, if you please. I'm sick of hearing lies. I'm sick of lying to myself.)

Another breath. "I don't know what Itachi felt, or why he thought there was no other option open to him, but he didn't have to do what he did. And please, Sasuke, don't think you were the cause of it. _He_ caused it;_ Itachi_ caused it. Not you."

Sasuke smirked, shaking his head and looking up a little. "You're going to have to come up with a better argument, but… thank you for telling the truth."

A hand at his shoulder, arm, pulling him into an embrace like the one they'd shared the Sunday before, when Orochimaru had been making American pancakes. When Sasuke hadn't known his brother was dead, when things had been a little more glossed. A little more false. He had thought it was such a wonderful thing to pretend he was alright (be a man, come on, men don't ask for help. No, men (Sasuke) just lie to themselves, _pretending_, _faking it all_, until things crash to the floor around them in a hopeless mess. Irreparable), and he had been right, right up until it had fallen around him.

"I've been so stupid," he murmured, eyes open. No more shielding. "It wouldn't be right ask for forgiveness…."

Orochimaru's thumb pushed up against the base of Sasuke's neck, a gentle movement. His eyes were on the boxes, neatly filled now, though they lay one no top of the other on the floor where Sasuke had left them, right where Itachi had left them. What is there to forgive?

"I could have done so much, but I just kept telling myself things would work out, that nothing was wrong…. I let things slip a little too far, you know? Itachi knew that, I think. He knew what I was doing unconsciously, and he tried to fix it." Sasuke pulled away, passing a hand over his eyes. "I kept turning him down. Looking back I can't even figure out why, because I knew there was something wrong, I could see us drifting farther and farther apart, but… I couldn't bring myself to do anything. I just kept… kept being stupid, and…." His halting, broken sentences wound to a close, hands burying themselves in his hair. Overcome.

No tears dripped through, though; he did not break completely. No. Things were healing. Very, very slowly, but they were. And eventually he would be left with nothing but memories, and lessons learned. He would never make these same mistakes again, no, oh no, they were too stupid, too dire, to be made a second time.

"I'm going to stop," he said, gathering himself and looking up. Orochimaru watched him patiently, seeming to understand the need to rid himself of what was inside. (Poisons named Guilt and Deceit - though you won't find those names on any periodical chart. You won't find them anywhere but inside a person. In their heart.)

"I'm going to stop lying, and pretending things are what they aren't. I'm going to stop all the things that helped me do it, too - the music, the drugs, the alcohol; everything. I'm going to stop ignoring things, and I'm going to go out and live." He paused. "Okay?"

(Will you be there make me keep those promises?)

Orochimaru smiled, picked up his tea again, and nodded. Just a little, but enough. "Of course. And the next time you do any one of those things, I promise to step in whether you want me to or not. Agreed?"

"Yeah."

Solemn vows exchanged, Sasuke picked up his tea again, glancing toward the stairs. Itachi's room still waited, and he felt he could face it now. It could wait, however. He had all day ahead of him, until the end of the month, actually, and he wanted to talk. It felt good to get the poison out of his system (and he was clean, now, free of sin so to speak, for a little while). It felt good to confess things, and make them right again - as right as they could be, and he wanted more of that.

He wanted…

"The weather's gotten better," he said, smiling a little. Stupid small talk.

"Yes," Orochimaru said, mirroring the expression with a curve of his own lips, "it has. It will probably snow soon, though; it's certainly cold enough. I'm surprised we haven't gotten some already, actually." A mutual silence, both pairs of eyes fixed on the window. "It will be a nightmare driving you to school, though, won't it? All that traffic, and the snow won't make conditions any better."

Sasuke met that comment with a shrug, bringing his cup to his lips. "Yeah. I like the snow though."

They sat close, drinking tea and breathing in silence - the silence of a house in which tragedy has struck and been weathered. Survived, endured, triumphed over. More troubles would come, of course (though at the moment Sasuke was certain none could be so bad as the one he'd just cleansed himself of), and he would survive those too. He would not give in; he would be strong, and live, and be truthful with himself because that was all that seemed to matter just then. That might be a little strong, but nonetheless, he felt it. And Itachi… well, Itachi had made his choice. And something of what Orochimaru had said was true, after all, the bit about not being able to blame himself.

If he continued to do so it would only drag him down, and he didn't want that. He wanted to be able to live with nothing holding him back - not Itachi's memory (which would hold a spot in his mind always, he knew), not guilt over what had already passed, and certainly not himself.

Sasuke sighed a little, holding his empty teacup to soak up its warmth. He hoped he would be able to do everything. He had placed a lot on himself, after all - quit drugs, quit alcohol, quit lying, quit ignoring and feeling guilty for the past, and fix the present. He hoped, he _wanted_….

He inhaled silence, thickly.

(Help me live.)


End file.
